Hot Cocoa and Hesitation
by r4ven3
Summary: Set from the end of Episode 5.04, after the end of Havensworth. A light-hearted look at some possibilities for Ruth and Harry had they not hesitated.
1. Chapter 1

_**The opening dialogue, firstly spoken by Ros, and then Harry and Ruth, is lifted directly from the end of Episode 5.04. I'm just using it as a springboard to a different outcome.**_

_**Just some light-hearted fluff, post-Havensworth – not very deep. **_

_**(I have needed to create my own temporary distraction while I plough through writing `Let Me Go'. This is my Distraction Piece.)**_

_**I'm thinking 2, maybe 3 chapters. Perhaps 4.**_

**oOo**

"What right do _you_ have to make judgements on _my_ personal life? Your own isn't exactly a shining example, is it? The fact that your own existence is a walking disaster zone does _not_ give you the right to make judgements on other people's!"

Ros blazed out of his office and marched across the Grid to gather her belongings.

Harry, recognising the truth in her words, sat back on the edge of his desk, and passed a hand wearily across his face.

The sound of his office door sliding open – sans knocking – meant it could be only one person.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hi," he replied, matching her tone – one of an intimacy born out of shared experiences.

"I just wanted to say," Ruth continued, " about Ros – that you were right. It wasn't your fault, Harry."

His eyes followed her as she spoke. "Thank you," he replied.

She had never looked more beautiful, more gentle, more inviting than she did at this moment. He kept his arms folded across his chest, drinking her in with his eyes, certain that she would read the longing in them.

She said a quiet `goodnight', and then she grasped his arm with her hand and held it there for just that little bit longer than necessary, squeezing lightly. He thought about covering her hand with one of his, but then she was gone. Another opportunity lost to hesitation.

He stayed resting on the edge of his desk while Ruth gathered her things and left, not giving him another glance, although he watched her every step of the way. It was at times like these that he needed her most. Havensworth had been a success, but only just. He had taken risks, and they had paid off.

But perhaps he had baulked at taking the risk he most needed to have taken. On the first night at Havensworth they had met in the corridor outside their rooms. It was not a planned meeting, but one of those chance events which tend to tumble unannounced into people's lives when they're least expecting it, willing them to take a different pathway than the one they'd been following. They'd stood there, staring at one another – he had been drawn (again) to her eyes, her mouth, the expanse of her neck, while she appeared to be fixated on his throat, exposed by a few open shirt buttons – and so the moment passed. She had been babbling – about what he couldn't recall – but when he'd spoken her name, she had turned and almost run to her room. He knew it was not repulsion which had taken her away from him in that moment. He knows what he saw in her eyes. Ruth was afraid – but of what? In retrospect he should have followed her, knocked on her door, and insisted they have it out.

_Have what out?_

The state of their relationship.

_What relationship?_

The one they both wanted to have, but were too afraid to begin.

Harry sighed and walked around the desk to his chair. Paperwork beckoned. But so had Ruth's eyes. He'd seen something in them which she normally kept hidden. He shuffled papers from side to side, shelving some, signing others, but his mind was elsewhere.

_A faint heart never won a fair maiden._

He had been anything but faint-hearted at Havensworth. He had opted to facilitate the assassination of a charismatic, but corrupt African leader, and he'd also approached Ruth in the hotel corridor at midnight. Both had required a degree of resolve, and a large dose of daring. One had ultimately been a success, while the other had failed before it even began.

_There is no time like the present. _

He had little idea why he was thinking in proverbs, but he was tired, and he needed her now, and yet he didn't know how to communicate his need without sending her scuttling back into her burrow. Before he was able to overthink the situation, he grabbed his phone and his coat, and headed off through the pods to his car.

He was parked outside Ruth's house, not sure what he should do next. What he _should_ do is go home. What he _wanted_ to do was to knock on her door and ask to be let in. _Then what?_

_He who hesitates is not only lost, but miles from the next exit._

He could see the light from inside her house through the panels of coloured glass in the front door. If he waited much longer, she'd be heading for bed. If he waited too long, his behaviour could be classified as stalking.

Inside the house, Ruth was making herself a hot cocoa. She was feeling a little antsy. She knew that if she went to bed now, sleep would elude her. There was so much going on in her head that she could barely make head nor tail of it.

Firstly there was Havensworth, but it had been a success, despite what the Foreign Minister had implied. By fair means or foul, the right thing had been done. The books had been balanced. The _right_ actions had been taken.

Then there was – well – there always was, wasn't there? There was Harry. Had she stayed with him in that hotel corridor, with him looking at her like... well, like _that..._ she would have had to rip open his shirt, scattering the remaining shirt buttons across the hotel carpet. And had he in any way rejected her for that - had he hesitated, or been shocked, or even said nothing at all - she would never again have been able to leave the confines of her house, so extreme would have been her embarrassment.

The kettle boiled just as her mobile phone rang, a piercing duet in a jolly key. Ruth turned off the kettle and answered her phone. _Please let the terrorists all be asleep in bed._

"Hello, Ruth," she heard, the most familiar voice of all.

"Harry," she replied. How is it he always knows when I'm thinking about him? On second thoughts, that wouldn't be hard, since there is never a time when I'm _not_ thinking about him. "I'm just making cocoa." Now, why did she feel the need to share that detail with this man who always made her feel exposed, naked?

"You need to go to your front door."

"What...now?"

"Yes, now."

It was Harry, and she trusted him, didn't she?

"OK, but this had better not be a Gorillagram."

She heard his low, soft laugh in her ear, as she headed towards the front door.

She opened her door, and there he was, also with his phone to his ear, his tie having been discarded, and his two top shirt buttons undone. _Bloody hell, Harry – don't you know what that does to me?_

"You'd better come in," she said, closing her phone and then the door, as Harry stepped into her hallway. "You can hang your coat here, on this hook. Would you like some hot cocoa?"


	2. Chapter 2

With Harry in her kitchen with her, the room seemed crowded. She wasn't sure why this should be, because Harry wasn't very tall, and nor was he all that big. To be honest, she had little idea if he was big or small or medium in other ways. _Oh, Ruth, get your mind out of the gutter …... please!_ With her back to him as she made them both a cocoa, she didn't have to see his face, his eyes which looked right into her, nor did she have to avoid looking at the part of his body exposed by the open buttons on his shirt.

She carried the mugs of hot cocoa to the table, and invited Harry to sit across from her. Someone had better say something soon, or she'd have to climb on to the table, crawl across it like some kind of feral animal, and bury her face in his neck! On the other hand, she might simply leave him here on his own, and go to bed. Having Harry in her house like this was almost _too much_.

"You haven't asked me why I'm here," Harry began, searching her face with his eyes. Her own eyes were overly occupied in watching the little fragments of chocolate rise to the surface of her drink, but occasionally flicking upwards to meet his. "Ruth?"

"Sorry, I was wondering why you're here, at... er...11.10 at night."

Harry blew across the surface of his cocoa, and took a tentative sip. "Nice," he noted.

"Nice what?" Ruth asked, looking at him suspiciously.

"Nice cocoa. I was commenting on the cocoa. What did you think I was referring to?"

"We never get this right, do we, Harry?"

He shook his head in reply. "I'm here...because...I just wanted to see you...somewhere other than at work."

Ruth felt the warmth travel from her chest (from within which her heart was beating quite quickly, and very loudly), to her neck, and would no doubt now be visible on her cheeks. As much as she had longed for Harry to utter words such as these, she had no idea how to reply to him.

"Ruth...did you hear what I said?"

She nodded, daring to look at him through her eyelashes. His eyes were alight with something. Anger? Frustration? Passion? Whatever it was, it burned through her skin with an enduring incandescence.

"We can't...keep...missing one another...like we did the other night," Harry added, his voice weary.

"Missing?"

"Getting it wrong. Misinterpreting the signals. Running away from each other. Do I have to draw you a picture, Ruth? Because if I have to, I will."

"No, I think I know what you mean, Harry."

"You're running from me now, Ruth. If we were anywhere other than your own house, you'd be out the door and halfway home by now."

"Harry, I don't do _this_," she indicated both of them with her hand, "terribly well. You're my boss, after all."

"Boss or not, I bow at your feet, Ruth. You are...amazing. I want us to...sort this out."

"This?"

"Us. We. You and me. Harry and Ruth. We need to communicate."

"So," Ruth ventured, "what do you suggest we do?"

"This is a good start," he replied, sipping his cocoa. "Just you and me and no interruptions. It's impossible to conduct a relationship at the workplace."

"So...it's a relationship, now, is it?"

"Don't be obtuse, Ruth. Of course we have a relationship. We haven't got past the gazing at one another stage, that's all."

"You make us sound like a couple of teenagers."

"We act like a couple of teenagers, wouldn't you say? We need to move on to holding hands pretty soon, or else I'll have to take drastic action."

"What kind of drastic action did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking that perhaps we should skip the hand-holding, and get straight to the kissing bit."

His words drew her eyes upwards, so that – for the first time that evening – she looked directly at his face. His eyes – so powerful and direct. His mouth – full and inviting. His eyebrows – lifted ever so slightly with an unspoken question. He was teasing her.

"Harry," she said, "please don't mess with me."

"I'm not, Ruth. I mean it. I look at you, and all I want to do is kiss you. Tonight after Ros gave me that bollocking, and you came into my office, was kissing me ever on your mind?"

Ruth nodded slowly. It was on her mind almost all the time, not just when she'd been in his office.

Ruth could see by his eyes – so direct that to receive his gaze almost hurt her – and his face – deadly serious, but soft and gentle – that he was not teasing her. She reached a hand across the table to him, while at the same time opening her mouth and biting her bottom lip.

Harry met her hand with his own. He grasped her fingers, caressing her knuckles with his thumb. Their eyes were locked in what could only be termed a passionate ocular embrace.

"Well," Ruth said, feeling the need to lighten the mood, "that's the hand-holding taken care of. So, what's next?"

Harry let go of her hand, but his eyes still held hers while he rose from his chair, and slowly walked around the table to her side. There, he put one hand on the table, and the other on the back of her chair, effectively locking her to her chair. He leaned over her, so that her mouth was only a matter of inches from the open neck of his shirt. Without thinking it through, she reached up to him and grasped both sides of his shirt collar, drawing him towards her. Harry went with her, intrigued by this change in Ruth. While still sitting, Ruth pressed her lips to Harry's neck, and then kissed him in small, light kisses from his throat down his chest to as far as his open shirt would allow. She could feel his heart beating, and his breathing deepen. "Oh, Ruth," is all he managed to say.

"You can't know for how long I've wanted to do that," she said, almost to herself, gazing at the spot on his chest her lips had just left.

"Oh, I think I have some idea," Harry replied, his voice deep and gravelly.

As she lifted her head to look into his eyes, he grasped the opportunity to kiss her, his lips soft and gentle on hers, his tongue opening her mouth insistently. Her hands were still holding his shirt collar, and his were still either side of her, one on the table, and the other on the back of the chair. The kiss deepened until both are moaning softly, their tongues exploring the mouth of the other.

Suddenly, with no warning, Harry pulled out of the kiss, and stood up, taking both his hands from the table and her chair. He was still breathing heavily, and she could see from her extremely close vantage point that their kiss had aroused him. She resisted the urge to touch him where his trousers strained. Noticing where her eyes were being drawn, Harry stepped away and went back to his chair.

"Is something wrong?" Ruth asked, confused, her voice hoarse.

"That's just it," Harry replied, now seated and once more looking at her from across the table, his hands cupped around his mug of cocoa. "Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all. For our first kiss ever, that was phenomenal, wouldn't you say?"

Ruth nodded. She wasn't sure she'd ever regain the power of speech in its entirety.

"If I don't go home now," Harry said quietly, "I'll never go home ever again."

"You don't have to go home. You can stay." A bold move for Ruth, one which held risks aplenty.

"I don't want us to move that fast. We have a lot of getting acquainted to do before we get to the bedroom. And we will get there, Ruth." Harry's voice was low and quiet, his eyes still holding hers in a steady gaze. "If you try to run away from me again, I promise you that I'll chase you down and bring you back."

"I don't want the others to know about us," she said.

"That's fine with me. It's none of their business what we do. They always get it wrong anyway. I guarantee they all think we're sleeping together already."

Ruth squirmed in her chair, uncomfortable with the idea that the others were talking about them. She took a long sip from her cocoa.

"Ruth," Harry said, causing her to look up at him. "We will do this. I promise you. We must. We owe it to ourselves."

A little later, she saw him to the door, and before she opened the door, she reached up to him for a kiss. He leant down and placed his lips on hers ever so gently. The kiss lasted for only a few seconds, but it held a promise of things to come.

"Goodnight my love," he said quietly.

"Goodnight Harry," she replied.

He left, and she watched him until he got into his car and drove off, then she shut the door. Her house suddenly felt very empty without Harry in it.


	3. Chapter 3

_**I'm enjoying writing this just a little too much! (Light & humorous is my natural genre, it seems.)**_

_**It just keeps getting longer and longer...(and you're free to interpret that however you want.) Not sure that I can keep this story to 4 chapters, so may have to be more. At least 5. Maybe more...**_

**oOo**

On the third day after they had returned from Havensworth, Harry had called a meeting with his team. He had spent the best part of the previous two days in meetings in other parts of the city. He and Ruth had hardly exchanged so much as an `hello'. When he arrived home each evening, no matter how late, he had rung her, so they could talk about their respective days. Harry knew from his own experience that communication was fundamental to the success of any relationship. Ruth had been reluctant to talk to him, but he had persisted.

In the meeting room he deliberately sat next to Ruth. Whether she liked it or not, he was determined for the other members of the team to consider he and Ruth as being a team in their own right. If the others got it all wrong, then that was unfortunate, but would not bring about an end to life as we know it.

"The Foreign Minister has been gagged for now," he began, "and to all intents and purposes, the assassination of Sekoa was an unfortunate outcome of information which we either missed or misread. There is to be no enquiry into the incident. The official line is that terrorists were responsible. That doesn't exactly let us off the hook, but it's enough. Ruth?"

As she and Harry looked directly at one another, Ruth felt their eye contact create the kind of heat capable of igniting book paper. 451ºF. She hoped none of the others sitting around the table caught their exchange. She was still mildly concerned about being the focus of gossip. She launched into her report to the team, trying hard to keep thoughts of Harry out of her head.

Towards late afternoon, Harry rang her from his desk. "Meet me on the roof in 5 minutes," was all he said before he hung up.

Ruth waited until he'd left the Grid before she followed him to the roof. She found him leaning on the rail, gazing over the city laid out before him. The day had been cold and still, and the air around them was surprisingly clear.

"Hi," she said, feeling a little nervous at being alone with him again.

"Hi," he replied, turning to smile at her.

He held an arm out to her, and she slipped into it, as he drew her close to his side. She nestled against his shoulder, feeling at home against the warmth of his body. She felt him kiss her hair.

"Was there something you wanted, Harry?" she asked.

"This is what I wanted," he replied. "Just this. I've missed you."

"What if someone comes out here looking for you?" she asked quietly.

"They'll find us cuddling, and to hide their embarrassment they'll simply bugger off," he said, turning to face her, putting both arms around her. "Have you missed me?" he added.

"Yes, I've missed you. I've missed you terribly." She lifted her face to his, and they kissed – gently, lovingly, but without the passion of three days previously. Passion would have to wait.

"Can I come around again tonight?" he asked, looking at her with longing.

"Please," was all she said in reply.

Harry had brought dinner - take-away curry with pappadums – and they ate it at the table, washed down with a light red. Their conversation was little more than small-talk, and Ruth soon found herself opening to the possibility of how this relationship could unfold. She had been physically attracted to Harry almost from the beginning. He was a man's man, but with something else always just beneath the surface – a sensitivity and a vulnerability which he'd kept hidden, even from her. She had seen the way he'd reacted when Ros had torn into him about her father's gaol term. Harry had been hurt, and Ruth also knew he'd been embarrassed; he was not a man of steel.

Their conversations had always been about work. This had flowed easily and often. In her house, alone as they were now, they were free to talk on a more personal level. This was where Ruth found herself adrift. If she was honest with herself, this type of interchange – especially with Harry – left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. Like him, she was skilled at keeping her private self private, and it was going to take some time for her to be totally open with him.

"Did you think of me today?" he asked, a smile on his lips.

"Silly question. Of course I did."

"What did you think about?" There was a teasing quality to his voice which unsettled her.

"Harry, I'm not really all that good at this kind of thing. It embarrasses me to talk about such things."

"So, you _did_ think about me like that." He smiled right at her, a glint in his eyes.

"Like what?"

"You know, Ruth. Now you're being..."

"Obtuse? Is that what I am?"

Harry sighed, recognising that he'd have to treat her with more delicacy, more sensitivity, otherwise she'd simply cut and run. "I'm sorry, Ruth. That was unfair of me. I was just -"

"Just what?"

"I was just trying to...advance our personal relationship. I'm not terribly good at this either."

"Perhaps we should stop trying so hard, and just be ourselves," Ruth suggested.

Harry collected the empty take-away boxes and squashed them before putting them in the rubbish bin in the kitchen. By the time he'd returned to Ruth, she was sitting on the sofa with both their wine glasses on the coffee table in front of her. He sat down next to her, and slipped his arm loosely around her shoulders. They sat in silence for several minutes, each lost in thought.

Was this the first impasse in their burgeoning relationship? Was part of their problem together that they were each madly in love with the other, but had little to say to one another outside of work? Harry suspected that all their awkwardness and emotional distance when around one another could be put down to one thing, and one thing only. There was a tension between them – there almost always had been – and this tension had only built up over time until it had reached almost unbearable, sonic boom proportions. At the risk of sounding just like a man, Harry believed that only one thing would ease the tension between them, but he had to approach that `one thing' with delicacy and tact.

Ruth enjoyed their silences. They made her feel comfortable, since idle chit-chat was not her thing. After a few minutes of it, she just wished Harry would stop being so careful, and bloody well kiss her!

He reached around and, with one finger under her chin, he turned her head towards him and kissed her deeply. He felt her mouth respond to him, as she moaned softly, and inched her body closer to his. The arm which had been around her shoulders slipped down her back and held her waist. Without thinking too much about it, his finger on her chin slid slowly down her side until it was inside her shirt, reaching for her bare skin. He felt his whole body responding to the call. With the greatest of self-control, he pulled away from the kiss and drew his hands back.

"What's wrong?" Ruth asked, confused.

"I – I don't want to rush this."

"But what if I do?"

Harry grasped both her hands in his. "Ruth - for me, this is for good. You and me. It's not just some casual grope. I want us to last for the long haul. Don't you?"

"Yes, I do."

"At the risk of sounding presumptuous," Harry continued, "I want to grow old with you. I want to be sipping hot cocoa with you every evening for the rest of my days."

"Harry...is this a..._proposal_?"

"I hadn't thought of it that way, but I suppose it is. You must know that I love you. The rest just follows."

Ruth was stunned by his words. _Where had he been hiding all that? _ Marriage? Loving her? Growing old together? It certainly sounded delicious, but could she take Harry seriously? He just wasn't the marrying kind, with all his bluster and bravado, and old boys' clubs. Not forgetting his failed marriage and string of affairs. Despite all that, she wanted him so much that it hurt, but...there was always going to be a `but'.

"Say something, Ruth."

"We-ell...I suppose I love you too, Harry..."

"You just suppose?" he interjected.

"No, that came out all wrong." Ruth took a big breath before she continued, quietly and without the need to spill her words out all at once. "I do love you. That's something I've known for some time, but...but shouldn't we just deal with the here and now, and wait to see if we can even tolerate one another for the `long haul', as you call it?"

"I guess you're right," he replied, leaning in to kiss her gently and carefully.

Only a few minutes earlier, Ruth had been prepared to drag him upstairs to bed. She had been ready to shag him witless, and to hell with the consequences! This new twist in the tale of Harry and Ruth led her to at last understand his reluctance to take things too quickly, without at least savouring the incremental steps along the way.

"OK, Harry," she said, "I'm prepared to do this your way. I can wait."

"I'm not thinking of dragging this out for too long. It's just that I don't want to jump into bed before we really know one another. We need to be sure."

He left soon after, pleading a 7 am meeting at Whitehall on the morrow. Their goodnight kiss was gentle, but meaningful. It spoke of so many more nights together, and so many more tomorrows. For the first time in a very long time, Ruth could say that she was satisfied with the state of her life.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry and Ruth developed a rhythm of working by day and being together in the evenings. Some evenings it was impossible due to the requirements of work, but they managed to be together – either in person or on the phone – every evening they were not required to be working. Sometimes they met at Harry's house, but mostly it was at Ruth's that they ate, talked, and snogged like teenagers. Most of all, they were learning how to have fun when they were together. Sometimes they talked for hours, while at other times, all they needed was to be with one another, and the words spoken were not important. They were learning to create and then interpret their own unique language of love.

Harry knew that the rest of their colleagues on the Grid knew about he and Ruth. Malcolm certainly did, and if he knew, then eventually the others would also. Malcolm was no snitch, but sometimes it was what he didn't say – as well as the way in which he didn't say it - that gave the game away. It appeared their colleagues had backed off and were giving them the space they needed to move through their own personal uncharted territory. On the following Friday evening, everyone was preparing to leave at the same time. It had been a stressful and busy week, but when wasn't it?

"I'm going to the pub," said Zaf. "Anyone else? Jo?"

"I'll join you." offered Jo.

"Me too," volunteered Ros.

"I have time for one or two," added Malcolm. "Harry? How about you and Ruth – will you join us?"

Harry looked up from where he was putting his desk in order. He had heard Malcolm's question, but most of all, he had noticed the inference that he and Ruth went together – like hand and glove, peaches and cream, Romeo and Juliet. Hopefully not quite like Romeo and Juliet.

"Ruth and I have other plans," Harry answered.

There was no reaction of an untoward nature. They seemed to accept his statement without covert looks or discomfort of any kind.

"Just remember, Harry," quipped Jo, one eyebrow raised, "whatever you do, keep one foot on the ground while you're doing it."

Cheeky bloody monkey! Harry wasn't sure whether to share this conversation with Ruth. She probably wouldn't appreciate being talked about in this way.

Harry and Ruth took it in turns to provide the evening meal on the nights they spent together. Tonight was Ruth's turn, and she had decided to prepare a home-cooked meal – Chinese chicken wings with rice. She didn't especially enjoy cooking, but she felt she needed to make an effort for Harry. She was enjoying their developing relationship, despite her own inner litany of questioning and misgivings. For Ruth, self doubt had become a destructive companion which she was finding hard to leave behind; it had been with her for too long.

"That was lovely, Ruth," Harry commented as he scooped up the last of the rice from his plate.

"I overcooked the chicken. It was meant to be more moist than that."

"Ruth – honey – you have to accept that some things you do will be less than perfect, and that this is fine as it is. I loved it. Isn't that enough?"

"Thank you, Harry. You're too kind. You don't have to say nice things all the time."

"But I want to. I want you to see yourself as I see you."

"I'm not sure that's possible. You're biased."

"Love will do that."

They gazed across the table at one another, neither fully believing that this was happening between them. They had taken so long to reach this place. Each had secretly dreamed of sharing intimate meals such as they were sharing on this evening. Each had believed such dreams would never be realised.

Harry washed while Ruth dried. It was the everyday and the mundane activities they shared which were cementing them in their own minds as a couple.

Once the kitchen was tidy, Ruth made a pot of coffee which they drank at the table. They normally did not share any level of physical intimacy until just before it was time for Harry to go home. This was his idea. For a few days, Ruth had wondered if in fact he had found her attractive, but the memory of their first ever kiss soon drowned out that particular niggling doubt.

"Ruth," Harry began, breaking a long silence. "Do you ever get lonely?"

"Oh, Harry," she said, "lonely used to be my second name."

"That sounds like it should be the title of a country and western song," Harry looked directly at her from across the table. "Are you still lonely?"

"Not any more," she said. "You've seen to that. As much as I've resisted getting this close to anyone, and especially to you...I wouldn't have it any other way now. Being with you...has been...life changing."

"I have always buried myself in my work to keep loneliness at bay. And then not long after you began working in Section D, I found myself staying back longer, just to be near you. There was the added benefit that I got more work done, but loneliness can eat away at you. It did me. It made me dead inside." And then, almost to himself, he added "I have so much to be thankful for."

Harry looked right into her eyes, as only Harry could. Ruth felt the fire in his eyes burn her, and her body became noticeably warmer all over. She longed for him, and was beginning to find their continued celibacy almost unendurable. Being alone with him for hours at a time was delicious, but tempting. Harry had been the epitome of self-control. As difficult as it was to remain hands-off around him, she was beginning to recognise the value of spending time in getting to know one another away from work.

Despite that recognition, what she was now ready to get-to-know about Harry was what he was like with his clothes off! She was aching to see him naked, feel his body against her own, feel him moving inside her, smell his skin during the heat of passion, hear him cry out her name...

"Ruth – did you hear what I said?"

"Er – no – sorry. I was miles away."

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You look so sad."

"Oh, Harry, I really, really want to take you to bed with me."

Harry was stunned by Ruth's admission. Here he'd been, acting the gentleman around her, not wanting her to feel like she was being treated as an object of his lust, and all along, she'd been as horny as he was! He stood up, intending to march around the table and lift her into his arms, when his phone rang.

Harry leaned down to the pocket of his jacket, having draped it over his chair when he'd arrived.

"Pearce," he barked into the phone. He listened, and Ruth saw his face cloud over.

"Honey, I'm so sorry," Harry said as he closed his phone after the call. "It's Adam. He's been arrested. I have to go. He's Wes's only parent now. I can't leave him there, even overnight."

"Do you need me to come with you?"

"No, Ruth. Stay here where it's warm. This shouldn't take long."

Harry kissed her – a gentle, but hurried kiss – and then left.

Ruth began to wonder if it were possible for she and Harry to have been cursed, or at the very least, to have attempted to build their relationship under a dark star. She didn't believe in curses or dark stars, but something seemed to always come between them, and she just needed to know that whatever it was, it didn't possess any kind of mystical hold over them.

When, by midnight, she hadn't heard from Harry, she went to bed – alone. This was not how she'd imagined how their perfect Friday night together should end. Secretly, she hoped Harry could perform a miracle and get Adam out of gaol. That way Adam could go home to his son, and Harry could come home to her to be kissed and licked all over. With that luscious image in her mind, Ruth closed her eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

_**This is one of those – somewhat frustrating, but also necessary – chapters, where there is more exposition than fluff. Fluff will return in Chapter 6**_

**oOo**

Ruth was woken on Saturday morning by her phone ringing shrilly from on top of her bedside cabinet.

"Sorry to wake you, Ruth, but I need you at work early. They're not letting us have Adam. It seems he went a bit apeshit last night, and attacked a couple of men on the street. The men whom it is alleged he attacked were Syrian. This complicates things a little. I need you and Malcolm to do some of that delving you do so well."

"I'll be in as soon as I can."

"Sweetheart, I have to stay with Adam. They're trying to pin him with attempted murder. He'll need a psychiatric assessment if we're to get him off. I need someone I can trust on the Grid...Ruth?

"You called me `sweetheart'," she said, a wide smile on her face.

"That's because you are my sweetheart. I don't know if I'll even see you today. It all depends on how quickly I can get this mess with Adam sorted. I haven't slept yet, but I can't take my eye off the ball, even for a moment. Oliver Mace is itching to stitch up members of my team. I'll ring you when I know something different."

He hung up before Ruth had a chance to say goodbye.

The mood on the Grid was sombre. The day ground by, hour by hour. Ruth did search after search, convinced that the Syrian men whom Adam attacked were planted. By whom, she was yet to discover. Malcolm had retrieved the CCTV footage of the incident, and was sure the Syrian men were the aggressors, and not Adam. They all spent a tense 12 hours, trawling, researching, investigating, all pinned together by a hefty dose of worrying.

Harry appeared on the Grid a little after 8pm. He looked drained and exhausted.

"You need to go to him, Ruth," Malcolm said to her quietly, not even turning his head from his monitor, "He needs you now."

Ruth obeyed, not even flinching at Malcolm's inference. She slid back the door and entered Harry's office, where he sat, his hand over his face.

"Hi," she said quietly.

He looked up, surprised to see her. "I was hoping you would have gone home by now," he said, reaching out a hand to her.

Ruth took Harry's hand, and leaned against the end of his desk, her leg touching his thigh. "I couldn't go home until I saw you. I had to know you were alright. And Adam, too, of course."

Harry smiled at her, circling his thumb over the pulse point on the inside of her wrist. "All I need is around 12 hours sleep. Adam should be fine. His psych assessment is in the morning. The worst outcome at this point is that he spend a month in TRING. I'm hoping that we get something which implicates Oliver Mace. I smell his involvement in this." Harry stopped talking to simply gaze at her, a slight smile on his lips.

"What is it?" Ruth asked.

"I've missed you. Were I not so bone tired right now, I'd take you home and make love to you until morning."

The moment was broken by Malcolm knocking quietly on Harry's door before he entered the office.

"Excuse me," Malcolm said, "I don't mean to interrupt, but there's something I think you'll both find interesting."

As Malcolm entered Harry's office, Ruth went to pull her hand from Harry's grasp, but he held on tighter. For Harry, this was the moment when they began to make a public statement about their being together. Malcolm noticed them holding hands, of course, but he was too polite to stare or to comment.

"I believe I have the connection we were looking for, Ruth. It comes in several pieces, but I'll summarise. I ran images of the two Syrian men through my face recognition software. They were part of a group of refugees who came here 3 years ago. During the last eight weeks, they have each been receiving regular payments over and above their refugee allowance. I've traced the payments to Oliver Mace, or his office, which is the same as it being him. Adam was set up. Now, that may be enough to implicate Mace in a conspiracy, but there's something else."

"Briefly, Malcolm," Harry said, "I'm about to fall asleep. Not because of you, mind you. I'm very tired, and I'm having difficulty remaining focussed."

"OK, do you remember the fire at Cotterdam prison?"

"What? Ten days or so ago?"

"Yes, that's the one. Yesterday, the head of security for the South East Prisons threw himself under a train. Mik Maudsley. I've been – in my own time, of course – investigating it. It seemed out of character, and quite an unlikely thing for him to have done. The Cotterdam fire smells. I have uncovered quite irrefutable evidence that the 7 prisoners who apparently died in the fire are actually alive and well and being held elsewhere. I suspect that, along with Adam's false arrest, there is enough smoke to indicate a fire somewhere in the vicinity of the office of Oliver Mace."

"Excellent work, Malcolm," Harry said.

"That's really good, Malcolm," Ruth added. "You put me to shame."

"No, Ruth, it was something you said yesterday which gave me the idea, and set me on the path to uncovering this mess. You said something like: _We generally find fires where there is an attempt to hide evidence._ That led me to thinking that the riot at the prison was staged, or at the very least, incited by those outside the prison."

After Malcolm left Harry's office, Harry drew Ruth to him and kissed her. It was a brief, but passionate kiss. Ruth could sense the promise in his lips.

"Harry," Ruth protested, "what about the others?"

"What others? There's only Malcolm and Jo out there, and they both know about us."

"Jo knows?"

"She's young. People her age can smell sexual tension at a hundred paces. It must be coming off us like solar flares."

"Harry!"

"I'm sleeping here tonight," Harry said. "Adam's psych assessment is in the morning, and I want to be there for the report afterwards. I hope I won't be needed, but I have to be available just in case."

Ruth didn't like the idea of Harry sleeping in his office, but she also knew that he'd done this countless times in the past.

"You go home and get a decent night's sleep," Harry added. "And don't come in to work tomorrow. You might need your beauty sleep." Harry looked at her strangely, like he was perhaps plotting something. On the other hand, what she saw may have been due to him being over-tired.

Ruth went straight home, and after eating a plate of scrambled eggs, she fell into bed.

She awoke just before 10 o'clock the following morning, worried that she hadn't heard from Harry. She did a general tidy up, which was little more than moving things from one place to another, and then back again. She ran the vacuum cleaner over the floors, and cleaned her bathroom and toilet. She had only just finished showering when her phone rang.

It was Harry.

"Good news, honey," he said. "Adam is free to go home. He doesn't have to do any time in TRING. Grief is a normal and allowable reaction to what he's experienced, but he will have to undergo regular counselling by the section psychologist."

"Harry, that's wonderful news."

"And what's even better, I think we have enough to sink Oliver Mace, especially if we include the intel Malcolm has on the Cotterdam fire. At the very least there'll be an enquiry into Adam's assault."

"So -," Ruth ventured, "you can come home now?"

"I should be free by around 4 o'clock," Harry added.

"That late?"

"Paperwork," Harry said.

"You'll come around her afterwards, then?"

"Of course I will. I can't wait."

Ruth felt her neck and face flush. Harry's implication was clear.

"I was planning to go to the market this afternoon. If I'm not here, let yourself in."

Ruth found herself humming to herself while she shopped for fresh produce. As well as purchasing fresh chicken and vegetables, she bought a bunch of flowers. Before heading home, she stopped at a café and bought herself a Danish pastry and a cappuccino. While she was excited and happy that Harry was coming over, she was also nervous. She was aware of Harry's history with women, and she was hoping she'd `measure up'.

She let herself into her house and carried her purchases through to the kitchen. Despite it being almost 6 o'clock, there was no sign of Harry. Disappointment weighed heavily in her heart. She unpacked the food, and put it away. She had planned to make a special celebratory dinner for them both, but perhaps her efforts would be wasted. It was not until she went into the bathroom to wash her hands that she noticed a wet towel on the floor, and fresh water splashes in the shower alcove. Either she had a phantom burglar with a cleanliness fetish, or Harry was somewhere in her house.

Now, he had not yet seen her bedroom, and didn't even know where it was, so she was surprised when she found him under her duvet, fast asleep. Thrown over her comfy chair under the window was what seemed to be most of his clothes. Interesting development, indeed. She stood by the bed for some time, just watching him. How peaceful and beautiful was his face when relaxed by sleep, the lines from age and weariness softened by rest. The room was in muted light, the only illumination coming from the light from the top of the stairs.

Ruth made an executive decision. Quietly she removed her clothes, leaving on only her bra and knickers. She suspected that Harry was naked under the duvet, but didn't want to go peeking in case she woke him. She quietly and stealthily slipped under the duvet and nestled in bed next to him. He was obviously in a deep sleep, because despite her making the mattress move when she got into bed, he showed no sign of knowing she was there.

All Ruth had to do was wait, and she knew very well how to do that. She'd been waiting for Harry for years, so what harm could possibly come from her waiting for him for another hour or so.


	6. Chapter 6

_**At last – some unbridled fluffy fun. Enjoy!**_

_**Some of this may be borderline T-to-M rating, so don't go here if it will offend.**_

**oOo**

Harry woke suddenly, temporarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. He turned his head to take in the room around him, having earlier been too tired to care. He almost gasped when he saw Ruth's head on the pillow next to him. She was sleeping, her face turned towards him, her cheek resting on both hands, like a child saying her prayers. Resisting the urge to kiss her, he leaned his elbow on his pillow, and rested his face on his hand, the easier to watch her, the woman he loved, as she slept.

Ruth woke suddenly. "Agghh!" she cried, seeing Harry's face so close to hers.

Harry laughed softly, and was about to move in to kiss her awake, when she lashed out at him with one hand, clipping him on his bare shoulder.

"Harry, you bastard!" she cried. "You scared me half to death. I thought you were..."

"Some weirdo?" Harry smiled widely at her, having grabbed her flailing hand in one of his own.

"Yes. Some weirdo. I'd forgotten...that..."

"That on Friday night you'd bluntly propositioned me. Is that it? Don't tell me you've changed your mind, Ruth, because this time I'm not buying it." He grasped her hand in his own, smiling at her, one eyebrow raised in an unspoken question. "Remember what I said about chasing you down if you ever run away from me again?"

"That'd be difficult, given I'm in my underwear, and you're holding me down in my own bed." But Ruth's anger was slowly slipping away. Harry's eyes, his bare shoulders and chest (and God knows what else was bare beneath the duvet...), but most of all his wide smile, had melted her ire. "You're still a bastard, though," she added, smiling at him at last.

Harry took her hand, the one he still had in his grasp, and slipped it beneath the duvet. Feeling her hand headed for somewhere she wasn't quite yet ready to explore, Ruth pulled it away. "Harry!" was all she could say.

Harry, deciding to act before she again changed her mind, leaned over her and planted gentle kisses on her cheek, her mouth, her chin, before raining a string of kisses down her neck, lightly flicking her skin with his tongue. Ruth lay back against her pillow, allowing him access to all of her, if that's what he wanted. She was his. She had no comeback, no retort, and definitely no resistance. She trailed her fingers lightly over his shoulder and down his back. She still had no idea if he wore underwear – or not. She could quite easily find out, but somehow the not knowing was infinitely more intriguing.

"Harry," she began.

"Mmm?"

"Are you _completely_ naked?"

He stopped kissing her, and looked up. "How much do you want to know?"

"This much," she replied, holding her thumb and middle finger apart as though measuring a distance of – oh – 4 inches or so.

Harry looked at her fingers. "You'll have to do better than that, Ruth."

Ruth then held both hands apart, a distance of around 15 inches. "This much?"

"Christ, Ruth, what do you think I am?"

Ruth giggled, and slipped under the duvet until her mouth was level with Harry's stomach. She began kissing him and licking him from just above his navel, and slowly worked her way downwards. She was in total darkness, and was relying on prior knowledge of his body to guide her. To be honest, most of her `prior knowledge' had been gained by gazing at him across the Grid and imagining what he'd look like naked! She very soon discovered him to be wearing undershorts. She grasped the waistband in her teeth, pulled it away from his skin, then let it go, so that it pinged back against his stomach.

"Ow!" she heard from above the duvet. "Ruth - get up here." So she did.

Harry put both arms around her, and covered her mouth with the deepest of kisses. They both groaned loudly.

The banter was over. Act Two - the serious stuff - had begun.

They lay side by side facing one another. Ruth lost herself in his kisses, so much so that she was barely aware of him removing her bra and flinging it on to the floor by the bed. He moved from her mouth down her neck, to her throat, and then took one nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue around it and across it, before he licked and kissed his way down her stomach. His hands were on her hips, and his fingers flicked in and out the waistband of her knickers. Each time he slipped his fingers beneath the waistband, they reached lower down her abdomen. She could feel Harry's arousal against her thigh, reminding her why they were here, right now, in her bed.

They each explored the skin of the other. The Vikings could not have been more thorough in their exploration of Britain and Iceland and Scandinavia than Harry and Ruth were of each other. Slowly and thoroughly, they licked and kissed and touched their way along and around the other, until the heat and the tension and the sheer anticipation of what was to come was palpable, almost audible – a humming in their ears, a vibration in their bodies, a throbbing in their pulse points, the ebb and flow of their breathing.

Ruth drew as close to him as she could, and – boldly for her – slipped her fingers under the waistband of his undershorts. She held him, hard and insistent, daring to stroke him slowly, and then pushed his shorts as far down his legs as she could reach, then removed them from him completely with her toes. Harry took this as sign to up the ante. Using both hands, he slipped her knickers down her legs, and then teased her flesh with his fingers, dipping in and out of her at random intervals. He then pushed himself against her. Ruth quickly slung one leg over his body at the waist.

"Tell me when," he sighed into her mouth before he kissed her, deeply and slowly, his tongue exploring her mouth. Ruth could barely breathe, let alone speak. Moaning, she grasped him in both hands, and led him to her warm centre, before she pushed herself on to him. He gasped, and lay still.

"Are you alright?" Ruth managed to say.

"Yeah," was all he could utter, his voice strangled.

They began slowly, languorously, almost lazily, giving themselves time to adjust each to the other – their angles, their rhythms, the shape of them. Their lovemaking had begun in earnest.

"Sweetheart - look at me," he said, and so she did.

He had never looked at her in this way. With all the covert glimpses, glances and gazes they had exchanged over the years, none had been like this. Not only was his body totally naked, but so was his face. If love had had a face, it would have been Harry's. Ruth didn't want this to end, but judging by their breathing, the surging of energy in her body, and the increase in Harry's rhythm, they would not manage to keep this going for much longer. He was plunging deeper into her, no longer able to hold back, his breathing coming in gasps. To remember this moment with more than just her eyes and her touch, she dropped her face to his shoulder and sniffed his skin. He smelled of sweat and aftershave and passion. She would remember that smell for the rest of her life.

She cried out his name, and not long after, he cried out hers. Once they had stilled, they rested together in one another's arms, their sweat and body juices mingling. From that moment until eternity, nothing – even death – would tear them apart. They belonged together - forever.


	7. Chapter 7

While Ruth showered and dressed, Harry drove to get takeaway Chinese and some wine. After all, it had been his turn to cook.

They ate in near silence, cloaked in the warm radiance of their after-loving. They glanced at one another often, holding the gaze of the other for long stretches of time. Few words were spoken. They needed no words. They had expressed whatever needed saying through their loving. When they'd finished eating, they took their time over finishing the wine, their fingers entwined across the table. Harry, his thumb caressing Ruth's fingers, was the first to ask the question they'd each longed to ask.

"Was it...what you expected?" he asked.

"I'm assuming you're not talking about the prawns in black bean sauce, or the chicken with mushrooms," she replied.

"You know I'm not."

"It was so much more than I'd ever imagined, Harry." Suddenly shy, she lifted her eyes to look across at him.

"In a good way?"

"In a truly wonderful way. I'm...speechless. You were...are... amazing."

"So, you're satisfied, then?"

"More than satisfied. Filled. My cup runneth over." Ruth waited a few moments before she continued. "And you? Was it what you expected?"

"Do you mean you couldn't tell? I'm going to take some time to recover." He looked right at her, as only Harry could. "I've never before experienced anything like...that...with anyone before you. It was...indescribable."

Ruth gazed at him across the table. Their fingers were still loosely laced. She took in his throat and neck, exposed by his shirt, open at the neck. _I've kissed him there_, she thought. _I've buried my face there and kissed and licked and sniffed, and it was all that I'd expected, and yet so much more. I'm undoubtedly the luckiest woman on earth._ She couldn't help but smile.

"What's the smile about?" Harry asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Oh, I was just thinking...how lucky I am," she said, smiling back at him.

"I thought I was the lucky one," he murmured.

"Maybe we're both lucky."

"But I'll bet I'm more lucky than you," Harry added.

"OK, Harry, you win."

"Maybe we both win."

"Perhaps we do."

"You go to the living room while I tidy up and make us each a cocoa," Harry said. His words broke the tension which had again been building between them. Tomorrow, after all, was a work day.

They sat together on the couch in the living room, each nursing a mug of cocoa. Words between them were few, until Ruth said what she'd been wanting to say all throughout their meal.

"You'll stay the night, then." It was more statement than question.

Harry put his cocoa down on the coffee table, and turned slightly towards her.

"I thought you'd never ask," he replied, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "I have an early start tomorrow, though. No hanky panky."

"Hanky panky? That's very nineteenth century of you, Harry."

"I'm a very nineteenth century man, my love."

"All that heavy breathing and ripping bodices?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of riding a horse throughout a stormy night to save a lady's honour."

"You're a bit late to save this lady's honour," Ruth said, leaning in to kiss him.

Harry leaned out of the kiss to take her face in his hands. "You're the most honourable person I know, Ruth. I just hope I can be worthy of you."

They slept in Ruth's bed, she in her pyjamas, and he in his undershorts, and a new t-shirt he'd found still in its plastic wrapper in the glovebox of his car. They slept in the spoon position – both lying on their sides, his front against her back, his arm tucked around her waist, her hand resting on his, their fingers intertwined. It was as though they had always slept this way, so natural did it feel. They each felt safe, like they truly belonged right where they were, with the other.

By the time Ruth awoke, Harry was getting dressed.

"Go back to sleep, Ruth. It's just gone six."

"Why so early?"

"I have to go home first and change into some fresh clothes. Don't come in until 9. I forbid you to come in until 9."

Ruth sat up at his words. "Harry, please don't tell me what to do."

He looked up from tying his shoelaces. "I was speaking as your boss, and not your... lover... partner? What are we to one another, then?"

"Don't change the subject. I was planning on getting to work at 7."

"Don't even think about it. I'll get Malcolm to cover for you, if you're worried about missing something. Decisions about Mace won't be made until late morning at the earliest, so there'll be nothing much happening until then."

"I'm more concerned about being favoured by you, Harry. I sleep with you once, and already I get granted a late start to the day."

Harry stood up and turned to sit on the bed beside her. His face had registered shock.

"We didn't just _sleep_ together, Ruth. Last night wasn't some random romp in the hay for me, and I'd been under the impression it wasn't for you, either. It meant something to us both."

"I'm – er – sorry," Ruth said, looking down at the duvet, her fingers picking at the fabric. "I hadn't meant it like that. Of course it meant – everything – to me. I was being ...flippant. I told you I wasn't very good at relationships. I always get it all wrong."

Harry scooped her up in his arms and held her. Slowly, she slid her arms around him, and grasped him with the same fervour he was holding her.

"We're still learning how to love one another, Ruth. I can sometimes be a grumpy bugger, and I know I shouldn't be that way with you. Forgive me. I can be a little old-fashioned."

Ruth pulled out of the embrace to look at him. "Perhaps we should stop apologising for every little thing."

Harry nodded.

Ruth entered the Grid just after 8 o'clock. The place was buzzing with activity. Harry was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Harry?" she asked Jo.

"He was called in by the Home Secretary. The DG is in a bit of a stink over this Oliver Mace mess."

_Good,_ Ruth thought. _Serves them right for letting Mace get away with so much for so long_.

Harry arrived back on the Grid just after 2 o'clock. He glanced at Ruth before announcing a debriefing in the Meeting Room. He sat next to Ruth – as he normally did, although now his proximity had more meaning. As she organised her notes, she could smell him – his particular body smell – and feel the heat of him. She began to tingle in places which did not normally tingle at 2:20 pm of a working day.

"The DG is keen to get Oliver Mace out of the security services. His name is now synonymous with the very worst of dark dealings. There'll be a full scale inquiry into Cotterdam, and this will include the attack on Adam. I will be required to give evidence on behalf of you all, although if any of you consider that you have something extra to add, then your support would be welcome."

Malcolm coughed before speaking up. "Perhaps I can personally present the evidence I uncovered, if that's alright with you, Harry. I can speak on behalf of both Ruth and I if you like. If I have your approval to do so that is, Ruth."

"That's fine with me, Malcolm. Thanks," Ruth replied, still mildly distracted by Harry's arm so close to her own. "I hate inquiries. I'd rather not personally give evidence if I can help it."

"Good. Good," Harry replied. He was also keen to keep Ruth away from the inquiry committee. These things sometimes had a tendency to get out of hand.

By 7 pm the only people still on the Grid were Harry, Ruth and Malcolm. Ruth had finished her report for the inquiry, and before handing it to Malcolm, she needed Harry's signature. This was to be the first time they'd spoken in private since he'd left her house just after 6 am. She slid open the door to his office, and without looking up, Harry spoke.

"I've been waiting for you all day."

"I could easily have been Malcolm," Ruth said quietly, dropping the report on the edge of his desk.

Harry looked up at her and smiled. "Malcolm always knocks," he said. "And he doesn't wear your perfume."

"Not today, anyway," Ruth added. She stood a little apart from him, not sure if their working protocol had also changed.

Harry put his arm out to her. "Come here," he said, as Ruth stepped into his one-armed embrace. "I've missed you," he sighed.

Ruth, stepping out of her comfort zone, leaned into him, and kissed him. "I love you," she said against his mouth.

"How about we go back to my place tonight?" he added.

"As long as we can first go to my place so I can pick up a change of clothes."

"That's fine." Harry still held her in a half-embrace. "How about a few days worth of clothes?"

"Are you trying to tell me something, Harry?"

Malcolm's gentle knock on Harry's office door, accompanied by a well-timed cough, caused Ruth to step away from Harry, despite his arm still resting on her hip.

"I'm sorry to interrupt – again," Malcolm began, this time visibly embarrassed. "I think we may have a problem."

"Can it wait until morning, Malcolm?" Harry asked.

"I don't think so. Not this time."

It was then that Harry and Ruth noticed the photograph in his hand. "This was emailed to me only moments ago."

The photograph was clear, and to them, it was also clearly a fake. It showed a crowd of people waiting on a platform for a train. Standing on the very edge of the platform, looking at the approaching train was Mik Maudsley. The problem was that it appeared that a member of the team from the Grid had been standing behind Maudsley, and had pushed him. The image of the Grid team member and their arm had clearly been photoshopped on to the original image.

"Shit," exclaimed Harry, sighing deeply, then handing the photograph to Ruth.


	8. Chapter 8

_**In part, this brief diversion into the suicide of Mik Maudsley had been motivated by how gob-smacked I was when the fake picture of Ruth pushing Maudsley was presented. Its obvious fakeness was never fully pursued...and the rest of the story is history. I guess what I'm saying is that I'm trying to right some wrongs. (And yes, I know that Nicola had to leave the show to have her baby, but I also thought the story line a trifle harsh on H & R...as well as much too angsty for this tender heart.)**_

**oOo**

"That can't possibly be Adam," Ruth exclaimed. "He was here...wasn't he?"

"No," Harry and Malcolm replied together.

"He'd gone off on his own after we left Havensworth," Malcolm continued. "At 7:10 on Friday morning we have no idea where he was, and as he'd turned off his phone, we had no way of tracing him. What's even worse, I, doubt he knows either. We have no account of his whereabouts until he was set upon by those two Syrian men on Friday night."

"But it's a fake, Malcolm," Ruth continued. "Even I can see that. The lighting is different on Adam than on the other people in the picture."

"Yes it is." Malcolm hesitated before he continued speaking. "I've been thinking. My first instinct had been to get Zaf back here to help me deconstruct this photo, but I have an even better idea. I have a friend – er – someone who has better software – for the purpose of identifying the makeup of this photograph. It's works a bit like archeology. It identifies all the components of an image, and their sources – time and date, geographic coordinates, and the camera originally used to take that part of the photo. I think that would be the best way to go. Our counter to this has to be able to satisfy the inquiry."

"Right, Malcolm," Harry said, "can you get that under way tonight? Do you need Ruth or me to help you, or to provide permission for use of materials, software, anything at all?"

"No, Harry. You two go on with what you had planned. I don't want to interfere with your evening together."

Harry stood up and gathered his overcoat, while Ruth left the office to get her things.

"Let me know your findings, Malcolm. It doesn't matter what time of the night, just ring me."

"Harry, I know that you and Ruth will be spending the night...er... together. Wouldn't it be more prudent were I to wait until morning?"

"When you have the results, then let me know, no matter what time of the night. I've promised Adam I'll look after him, so look after him I shall," Harry said. "But get some sleep yourself. You're not much good to anyone if you're out on your feet."

"I'll ring Edmund now, and if he's free I can take this around to his place, and we'll work on it there. I'll probably catch some sleep there. I think it's important that Adam isn't implicated any more than he already has been. And in case you're wondering, Edmund signed the Official Secrets Act around three years ago."

Harry drove Ruth to her house to collect her cat, the cat food, and enough clothes for another three days. On the way to Harry's house they stopped to pick up takeaway Vietnamese. As always, whenever they drove to either home together for the evening, they were almost silent, anticipation and a detectable level of electrical expectancy their constant companions.

"You're keeping something from me, Harry," Ruth said, as they turned into his street. "I know you. I sense something. You have some kind of plan up your sleeve."

"I do," he replied, "but it's a nice one. I think you'll like it. I hope you'll like it." Without even looking at him, Ruth could hear the smile in his voice.

"Harry, I really like surprises, but they scare me also. I'm not good with change," she added, "as you've no doubt noticed. " Her voice trailed away to almost a whisper.

Harry smiled into the darkness inside the car, as he turned into his own driveway. "Sometimes change is necessary," he said, "even if it's also scary."

Before they ate, Harry led her upstairs to his bedroom, flinging open the wardrobe doors for her to hang her clothes.

"That's a big bed, Harry," Ruth commented.

"And you'll be the first woman to have shared it with me," he said, watching her as she took in the room. He wanted her to feel as comfortable here as he had in her house, in her bed.

"I feel honoured, then," Ruth replied. "I find it hard to believe that you haven't yet had someone in this bed with you."

"No-one," he replied, almost inaudibly. "I've been keeping it...all this time... for you."

It was in that moment that they could easily have fallen on the bed together and torn off one another's clothes. The long silence, the eye-contact, the heat between them increased, until Harry broke the moment.

"Let's eat first," he said, "I'm actually quite hungry, and I'm going to need my energy if we're to -"

His implication was clear. He was planning for them to christen the bed. Ruth felt heat suffuse her lower body, and with momentary regret and the greatest of self control, she led the way out of the bedroom.

Harry had bought a large tin of cocoa, and so after they'd finished eating Ruth made them each a cup.

"I really enjoy this time of the evening with you," Harry said, blowing across the surface of his cocoa.

"It's a little Darby and Joan, don't you think?" replied Ruth. "Us sharing our hot cocoa before we climb the stairs, check on our six small children all asleep in the same bed, and then crawl wearily into our bed which we've heated with two hot bricks from the fire."

"That's a bleak picture, Ruth," he replied. "I think of this," indicating them with their cocoa, "as something warm and safe, and another thing I share just with you. It's our little oasis of certainty in an uncertain world." Harry waited a while before he continued. "I have something for you."

"What?"

He carefully placed his mug of cocoa on the coffee table before he went to his coat, which was still hanging over the back of his chair at the table. From the inside pocket he took a small flat parcel, wrapped in gold-coloured paper.

"This is for you, sweetheart," he said, handing it to Ruth.

She hurriedly opened the parcel, inside which she found a key. Resting under the key was a small piece of blue notepaper on which Harry had written:_ Everything I am, everything I have is yours H xx. _ She took a moment to read it and then re-read it before she looked up at him, her eyes burning with love for him.

"It's your own key to this house," he said. "Live with me, Ruth. Live with me here."

"Oh, Harry, that's a lovely gesture...and a beautiful surprise. I'll have to think about this, of course. It's quite a step."

"Of course you will. Take all the time you need."

Privately he was disappointed she had to think about this at all. What was there to think about? To him, the equation was a simple one. _Harry + Ruth = Love; ergo, we should live together._ It would sure beat all this carrying changes of clothes between houses. Not to forget poor Fidget, who was being dragged from one house to the other in his pet carrier.

"It's not that I don't want to, mind you," Ruth added, noticing Harry's face, some of his confidence and enthusiasm having drained away since he'd handed her the key. "I need time to get used to this, Harry. I'm still adjusting to there being an `us'."

He knew what she meant, of course. This was Ruth, and she was an analyst. She had a need for checking and re-checking everything – every piece of information, every side to what is bound to be a multi-faceted issue. She wanted to be absolutely sure.

In contrast, Harry was already absolutely sure. He had never felt more sure of anything in his life.

"I can keep the key?"

Harry nodded, recognising this as progress. "I gave it to you for you to keep," he added. "It's yours. There are no conditions attached to it."

"I know that I'll say yes – to your suggestion – but I want to do it in my own time. I can't be rushed, Harry."

He leaned towards her as if to kiss her, when Scarlett ran into the living room and leapt on to Ruth's lap. He laughed as Scarlett got between he and Ruth.

"See?" he said. "Even my dog loves you. You'll be most welcome here, Ruth."

They celebrated their first night in Harry's bed by making love slowly, as though they had all night. As they'd climbed the stairs together, he'd taken her hand in his, and very softly caressed her palm with his thumb. They paused on the landing for him to draw her to him, and as he kissed her deeply, with the lightest of touches his hands moved up her arms, over her shoulders, down her back and to her buttocks, where they grasped her and drew her towards him. Ruth felt herself merge with him. She knew he was aching for her as much as she was for him. To convey to him her eagerness, she pushed her body against his, and very slowly moved her pelvis from side to side, teasing his increasing hardness. Still fully clothed, their lovemaking had begun.

Some time later, in the bedroom, after he'd entered her with a gasp and a shudder, Harry insisted they look at one another.

"I never want to forget how you look as you love me," he said fiercely, "and I want you to see me as I am when I love you."

Ruth had never before done this with any of her previous lovers. She found it to be yet another level of intimacy, and more than a little confronting, but she also loved to look into Harry's eyes as he was moving inside her. It was at this moment that she felt closest to him.

They were resting after making love, their breathing still heavy, unable to speak lest they break the spell, when Harry's mobile phone rang.

Harry lazily reached over and picked it up. "Harry Pearce," he said. "No, you're not interrupting anything. We were just... What's the result, Malcolm?" Harry listened in silence for some minutes. "That's good news, then. No, the report can wait until the morning. If I have it on my desk by early afternoon that would be good. No, I haven't spoken to Adam. I thought I'd leave it until the morning. Perhaps I'll wait until your report is in. Yes, I think so too. And Malcolm, thanks for you commitment to this. OK, I'll pass that on to her. Goodnight Malcolm." Then he finished the call.

"It went well, then," Ruth observed.

"Perfectly. Adam's image had been captured the day before, when he'd been wandering around on his own somewhere in the city. It wasn't even a very good match. The time stamp on his part of the image was 10:32 am on Thursday. The main part of the photo was from the CCTV in the underground, which the time stamp registered as 7:08 am Friday. The image of Adam had been taken in sunlight, so whoever did this mock up wasn't terribly skilled, nor were they worried about it being identified as a fake."

They lay in silence of over a minute before Ruth spoke. "Harry," she began, turning in the crook of his arm to look at him, "what if this photo was created deliberately in order to implicate Mace's office? It's so poorly done that it can be the only reason for doing it."

Harry turned his head so that he looked at her. "I think you might be on to something there. I didn't even ask Malcolm if he'd traced where it had been sent from."

"I'm sure he would have done that by now."

"That can be a job for Adam and Zaf in the morning," Harry replied. "I'm thinking that maybe Mace has some rats in his ranks."

They turned over so that they were once again in the spoon position, Harry at the back, and Ruth folded against his stomach. He curled his arm over her so that her hand and his hand were interlaced.

Harry buried his face in her neck before kissing her softly and slowly. Ruth uttered a soft moan as his lips teased her neck.

"What did Malcolm tell you to tell me?" she asked.

"Oh, that? He said: G_ive Ruth my love_. Those were his words. Were I a less secure man, I'd be jealous. He's a clever man, is Malcolm. I once used to think he might steal you away from me, and that was when I could hardly have claimed you as my own. You and he seemed to have so much in common."

"As much as I love Malcolm, Harry, it's always been you I've longed for. Whatever happens between us, wherever this -" Ruth lifted her hand from Harry's, and indicated the room around them, "leads, my last thought on earth will surely be of you."

Harry gave a soft growl, and pulled himself closer to her.

**oOo**

_**I think I can only string out this story for one more chapter – which I haven't even begun yet, so who knows?**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**An expletive or two, so be warned...**_

_**Oh, and I know I said this was to be the last chapter. It isn't.**_

**oOo**

_2 weeks later, St James Park_

Ruth had been sitting on the bench watching the pigeons for around fifteen minutes when she noticed him hurrying towards her. She never tired of watching him. As frustrating and often vexing as he could be, his physical presence always raised her heart rate by at least 20 beats per minute. He wasn't a handsome man as handsome men go, but he was striking, his presence commanding, and eyes were drawn to him, from men as well as women. Adam had once commented to her that Harry was the kind of man women wanted to fuck, and men wanted to fight. She had surmised from his reverential tone that Adam admired, perhaps even envied such traits in a man.

It was his walk which gave him away – a purposeful meander – and so she indulged in the luxury of openly gazing at him until he was close enough for her to be able to take in the details - his sandy-coloured hair, a little longer than usual, curling against his ears and his shirt collar; his full mouth pursed in seriousness; his eyes concentrating on the path ahead of him; his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. She hadn't set eyes on him for three days, and so despite regular phone calls between the two of them, she'd missed his physical presence in her life with a longing that drained her.

"Hi," he said, sitting next to her so that their knees touched. Taking his hands out of his pockets, he leaned across and kissed her, one hand across her shoulders. It was a kiss hello, little more than a glance of his lips against her own.

"Hi to you too," she replied, leaning back against the bench, noticing that he'd left his arm around her shoulders. While they sat together like this, she felt shielded and protected from the world and all its unpredictability and pain. She also knew that this sense of safety was not always warranted. Even Harry could not keep at bay the hatred which was sometimes directed at them. The latest attack against he and his team was drawing to an unsatisfying close.

"I've missed you," he said quietly, gazing at the pigeons. "Life is so simple for them, isn't it? Eat, sleep, fuck."

"But they don't have our passions to provide the light and shade," she added. "They don't have love -"

"Or hate," he said, looking right into her eyes for the first time since he'd sat down beside her. "Sometimes acting purely from instinct must make life easier, surely. No guilt, no recriminations, no cause for judgement, no self-doubt."

"That's because you're a good man, Harry. Only good people experience guilt and self-doubt. That's one of the myriad of reasons I love you. You have honour. Do pigeons have honour?"

"I really couldn't say. They certainly have a code of conduct. Have you ever seen them kick out one of their own?"

"But darling, you haven't been kicked out." This is the first time Ruth has used an endearment when addressing Harry. Such words do not come easily to her, and she'll only ever use them sparingly. It is not since she was 11, and before her father had sunk into a coma from which he never recovered, that anyone has embraced her with such endearments. Until Harry. Words like `darling', `sweetheart', `my love' and – only the week before – `pumpkin pie' – seem to roll off his tongue. Admittedly, she'd told him off royally for calling her pumpkin pie. He'd laughed, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her until she could no longer be angry with him.

"No," he replied, noticing the endearment, and looking at her with an all-too-familiar longing, "but it could have happened, and one young man had to die to save my backside."

"And a lovely backside it is, too."

Harry looked at her and smiled at her observation. "Naughty," he said quietly.

"Strictly, it was your team who were saved, Harry."

"My team, yes."

"It was worth it, don't you think?" Ruth looked at him questioningly.

"The struggle, the inquiry, or the death of that kid in Mace's office?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of us standing together," said Ruth. "All of us, not only you and me, but Malcolm, Jo, Zaf, and Adam – and facing the accusations. Such solidarity breeds strength and confidence in all of us."

"I notice you didn't mention Ros in that list of names."

Ruth turned on the seat to face him. "She was noticeable by her absence. She really does want your head on a stick, doesn't she?"

They sat in silence for some minutes, each contemplating the role Ros hadn't played in the inquiry which had resulted in Oliver Mace being ousted from office, after which he'd promptly left the country. Harry drew a little closer to her, and tightened his arm around her shoulders, so that her hair now brushed his cheek. She only needed to turn her head towards him, and he towards her, for their lips to have met.

"Someone could still be watching us, Harry. Perhaps we should be more careful."

"Bugger them all," he growled. "If I want to cuddle the woman I love in full view of the world, then I will. Fuck them – the liars and the panderers and the self-righteous clowns. Criminals, all of them. I will no longer live my life fearing what they could do to me, and those I care about."

"It's that young man in Mace's office we have to thank."

"Benedict Maher. Poor kid," Harry mused. "He was around the same age as my son...and he topped himself to save people he didn't even know."

"Benedict seems like an appropriate name for him, don't you think?"

"You've lost me, Ruth."

"Benedict Arnold," she replied, "American Revolution. Defected to the British."

"And ultimately benefited from that defection. Benedict Mohler just acted according to his conscience, and he gained nothing for his pains. Firstly he mocked up that photograph, then he emailed it to Malcolm, then he told his immediate superior what he knew, then he wrote a note and signed it, then he put a gun to his head." Harry sighed heavily. "He's hardly been hailed as a hero. I wonder how his parents feel."

Ruth knew Harry was thinking of his own son, and how much the apparent insurmountable distance between them continued to hurt them both. Ruth was relieved at not having pursued the path of parenting. No matter where she and Harry were headed, she didn't want that particular responsibility for herself, or for him. Harry was enough for her, as she hoped she was for him.

"You know, Harry, I suspect there was more to his revealing the truth than a stab of conscience. Malcolm came back from the inquiry yesterday saying that Maher knew too much about Mace's activities. He thinks the boy was being blackmailed by Mace, and he couldn't take it any more, and so he sent that mocked up photograph to Malcolm as his last act of defiance."

"We'll never know now. All remaining evidence has been held. The whole affair is a massive black mark on the security services in Britain. The media have had their field day, although by this time next week they'll turn their attention back to their usual targets – the models and the footballers. Now we just have to get on with it. There's more dirt than just Mace, but none of that will ever see the light of day."

"Do I detect your cynicism, darling?"

"Yes, I think so. It's at times like these – when innocent people are hurt – that I wonder why I'm still doing this."

"You do it because you care, Harry. As I said before, you're a good man. You want to make the world a better place."

He turned his body to face her, letting his arm drop from her shoulders so that he could take her hand in both of his. "So, why isn't it?"

"Why isn't what?"

"The world a better place. It just gets dirtier and dirtier, and the list of victims gets longer and longer."

"Perhaps it's time you hung up your spy outfit, then."

"Perhaps it is," he said, glancing at his watch. "Time I got back, Ruth. Apparently the DG wants to meet with the Home Secretary and me. I'm told an apology may be in the offing, although I'm certainly not holding my breath."

They both rose from the bench, and turned to face one another. Harry stepped close to her, so close she could almost her his heart beating.

"You'll be home tonight?" she asked, looking into his beautiful eyes.

"Definitely. Keep the bed warm for me. I'll try to make it home by 8. Will you be going back to the Grid?"

"I'm planning on taking the afternoon off," Ruth replied. "There are some jobs that need doing at my place. Besides, if I have to hear Ros bleating about you one more time, I swear I'll deck her."

"She's just hurt, Ruth. She blames me for her father's gaol term."

"She needs to grow up, and put the blame back where it belongs."

Harry grasped her arms and drew her against him. He held her tightly and rested his cheek against hers. "I love you," he said. "Don't ever forget that."

"Is something wrong, Harry? You sound like a man about to go to the guillotine."

"No. Nothing's wrong. I'm just missing you. And I'm a bit pissed off with the world."

"The world never was how you wanted it to be, you know. It's always been this way."

"My wise and wonderful Ruth," he said, as he bent to kiss her.

He walked back the way he had come, and Ruth watched him all the way – her brave and steadfast Harry, the man she had loved for well over two years. He carried so much on his broad shoulders, and she just wanted to lighten his burdens for him. As she watched him recede into the distance, she silently thanked whatever powers in the universe had miraculously brought him into her life.

**OOO**


	10. Chapter 10

_**This is the final chapter! Slightly T to M rating, but only marginally in places.**_

_**And I make no apologies for my blatant promotion of Oz wines. Any I mention are available in the UK! **_

**oOo**

Ruth had at last come to the decision that she had hesitated long enough.

She had already spent two weeks mulling over the pros and cons of living with Harry in his house, and try as she may, she had come up with no good reason for putting it off any longer. And she had tried hard to find some. All the best reasons for not committing to Harry, even in the short term, were not present. Too many times she had seen Harry during the worst of his behaviour, but she knew his anger, his unpredictability, had its origins in fear, and his desire that his team perform at the highest levels. Harry cared. Perhaps he cared too much, and she valued that in a man.

She had lived in her mind the scenario were they (by some strange quirk of circumstances unforeseen, or even madness) to fall out of love with one another, and even that unlikely scenario had not put her off. There was certainly a possibility that they would not remain together, although as of this afternoon, she cannot imagine it. She had wanted to be sure about this, and she was now as sure as she'd ever be. To put it off any longer was creating for Harry a degree of pain and uncertainty that she no longer wished to inflict upon him.

While watching him walk away from her after they'd met in St James Park, the truth had hit her like a cold slap. She had been hesitating, procrastinating, hedging over committing to living with him because she didn't trust herself. She had no reason to not trust Harry. Once he'd shared with her his true feelings, he had not once led her into believing that he was not fully in the relationship. She, on the other hand, had danced around in the half-light at the fringes of their bond, with one foot in and one foot out. Her reason? She was sure that she did not deserve the love of this man, and that in time, he'd no doubt discover that.

What bollocks!

She had a lot of making up to do. But first, she had to sort out some things in her own house.

..

It was early evening, and she was back at Harry's house. She had thrown together a large dish of lasagna, and it was in the oven. Over the past few days, Harry would not have placed a high priority on eating regular meals, so she hoped he'd be home in time to help her eat it. An unopened bottle of Banrock Station Rosé sat on the dining table. Either side of the bottle of wine she'd placed two large candles, so far unlit. Although she had no real reason to be, Ruth was nervous. This was to be yet another important step in their coming together.

His timing could not have been better. Ruth was upstairs in the spare room when she heard him close the front door.

"Ruth?" he called from the hallway.

"Upstairs," she answered. Now seemed as good a time as any. "I'm in the spare room."

"What are you doing -?" he began, and then when he'd stepped through the doorway he saw what she was doing. "Ruth – you've brought your books. All of them, too."

"And all my clothes are in your wardrobe."

"_Our_ wardrobe," he corrected.

Harry's face broke into a wide smile. Were Harry a whooping man (which Ruth was eternally relieved he wasn't), he would have whooped. She preferred the gestures and sounds he emitted naturally and without any hint of self-consciousness – his gentle smile, or the lifting of an eyebrow, or one side of his mouth. He laughed infrequently, but when in her company he smiled often. He also pursed his lips when annoyed or frustrated – particularly when faced with the perceived incompetence of others. His gasps and groans during their lovemaking thrilled her, chiefly because she knew them to be a totally honest expression of passion.

He looked across the room at her, and she lifted her eyes to meet his. In that moment they both knew what this meant. He stepped across and between the random piles of her books to put his arms around her. "Welcome home, Ruth," he said.

"It's good to be home," she replied, meeting his lips with her own.

Their kiss became deeper, and Harry's hands began to wander – down her arms to her hands, and then to her buttocks, her waist, her breasts, her neck. It was as though he had a need to reacquaint himself with her body. It had been days since they'd touched in this way. Ruth had already removed his tie, and had begun undoing the buttons on his shirt. Then she ran her hands all over his bottom, reminding herself of the shape and the feel of it.

"This must call for a celebration," he mumbled against her mouth. "But first, Ms Evershed, I'm going to make love to you until you beg me to stop."

"Promises, promises," she mumbled back.

They staggered to their bedroom, and fell on to the duvet. Scarlett and Fidget had been curled up asleep on the bed, but they soon leapt off the bed and through the door in search of a quieter sleeping place. Hands moved over clothing, buttons were undone, shirts removed, pants and skirts, socks and shoes flung off. Harry then lifted himself above her, staring down into her face. She ran her hands over his chest and down his back to his bare buttocks.

"God, I love you," Harry said, before he leant closer to her and took one nipple in his mouth, teasing the tip of it with his tongue. They then lay side by side, facing one another, while their hands explored the other – no mounds, cracks, crevices or expanses of bare skin were left untouched.

When they at last joined together, his hardness inside her, they moved slowly and gently, their eyes each on the other. Despite their days apart, they lasted a long time, just moving with one another in a gentle and steady rhythm. They were in no hurry. Suddenly, Ruth's hips bucked, and her muscles contracted tightly around him, as she cried out his name. His climax followed soon after. Afterwards they rested against one another, Harry having pulled the duvet over them both.

"That was lovely," Ruth said after a time.

"I've missed you so much," he said, placing his lips on her forehead. "Let's not be apart if we can help it, Ruth. It's too hard on both of us."

She nodded her assent.

They took a long shower together, again running their hands over the skin of the other. It was in moments such as these that they luxuriated in each other.

"Why were we not doing this years ago?" he asked, looking deeply into her eyes as the water cascaded over their heads and shoulders.

"I can only speak for myself," Ruth replied, returning his look. "I believed I didn't deserve something as wonderful as this. I've been afraid of being found out."

"Being found out? Jesus, Ruth, what does _that_ mean?"

"I thought you'd discover I was ordinary, and that you wouldn't want me when you found that out."

"Darling," Harry exclaimed, "that's nonsense. We _know_ one another. We know who we are. I know how extraordinary you are, and – well – you obviously see something similar in me. That's what love is, Ruth. Love doesn't judge." He bent to kiss her. "Love transcends all that guilt and shame crap."

They dried themselves while facing one another in the bathroom. Harry luxuriated in watching Ruth's back and buttocks reflected in the mirror at the same time he drank in her breasts and her hips and her face. Ruth, on the other hand, seemed overly interested in his chest, stomach, thighs and his penis. She had difficulty in keeping her hands off all four. Harry pushed her hand away.

"I'm ready to eat now," he explained. "Food, that is. I'm starving."

As had happened so often before, they ate in near silence, words being almost a distraction. They left the wine, deciding to open it another night. After dinner they climbed the stairs to bed, and it was only 10:30. Lying in bed together, they were each almost asleep, their arms wrapped around one another, when Harry spoke into the darkness.

"I've been thinking, Ruth," he began, "I'm not going to hesitate any more where we're concerned. If it feels right, I think we should just do it."

"I'll vote for that," Ruth replied, her voice sleepy, a smile in her voice, happiness at last filling her heart.


End file.
